


Fifty Strokes (A Love Story)

by badgirlcarly



Category: Thunderheart (1992)
Genre: Caning, Catharsis, M/M, Spanking, Therapeutic spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2020-12-17 08:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21051599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badgirlcarly/pseuds/badgirlcarly
Summary: All Walter wants for Christmas is for Ray to be himself again.





	Fifty Strokes (A Love Story)

  
Ray had been back from his last undercover assignment for about six weeks. He had been gone three months and came back with stitches on his face and bruises on his knuckles and scars he didn’t want to talk about. Walter had been begging any higher power that would listen to deliver Ray home to him, and he was happier than he’d ever been in his life to see him, but seeing him like _this_ fostered a pain in his chest like he’d never felt. Ray’d been having nightmares. Walter knew that Ray’s time undercover was classified, and more than that Ray didn’t want him to know because he didn’t want him to worry any more than he was already, but Ray woke up screaming or crying or both about three times a week since he’d been back, and he wouldn’t talk about any of it. He put on a happy face, but the smile never reached his eyes. There was something dark back there, something haunted.

It would take time. Healing always did. But damn, it hurt like hell in the meantime.

Christmas was coming fast. Ray’s ma had sent some things, but his stepfather still wasn’t talking to him, so Walter tried not to bring up Ray’s family too much. Usually they spent holidays with Walter’s family, but he could see how it hurt Ray right now to be around too many people, so he’d arranged for a quiet dinner, just the two of them and his folks eating and exchanging gifts a couple days before Christmas Eve, before all the extended family came in. That was a few days away. Now it was snowing hard and they had the fireplace going, Jimmy curled up as close as he could get to it without catching himself on fire, and Ray and Walter sitting on the couch just watching the flames. They’d had supper, and Ray was always happier with food in his belly, and he’d relaxed enough to lean against Walter and the couch. Walter ran his fingers lightly through Ray’s close-cropped hair, listened to him breathe. The stitches on Ray’s face had come out a few weeks ago, and in the dim light, Walter couldn’t see the patches of flesh still healing where there had been bruises and cuts. The snow blanketing the ground muffled the sound of the world outside, and Walter had a thought he’d never had before: Wouldn’t it be nice, never to let the world in again? They could just stay here, him and Ray and even the dog, alone and not alone, letting the world go on around them, forever.

“Penny for your thoughts, honey,” he said.

Ray’s pale eyes reflected the fire, even as he looked at Walter. “I was just thinking how nice this is,” he said.

Walter smiled, gave him a gentle squeeze. “Me too. You think about what you want to do for Christmas? It’ll be just you and me. We could get a tree, if you want. We got some time.”

“Stay in,” Ray said. “Eat.”

Walter chuckled. “Yeah. I’ll make that apple crumble recipe of your mom’s.”

Ray tensed a little, and Walter wasn’t sure what he said wrong. He tried to change the subject, smooth things. “Ray, what do you want for Christmas?”

Ray ground his back molars together, hard. He looked away.

“All I want for Christmas is to stop feeling this way,” he said softly, and then he flinched, shook his head. “I’m sorry--”

“Don’t be. Never be sorry for being honest with me,” Walter said, but that pain in his chest pinched so it was hard to breathe. He pulled Ray close, and held him.  


***

It was Christmas Eve, and it was still snowing. They’d quit cooking for the day, wrapped everything up for the next day, a Christmas with just the three of them, just what they needed.

Ray knelt by the fireplace, stoking the fire carefully. He hadn’t grown up having much of anything to do with fire, and it still made him nervous. The forest fires they got out there scared him like nothing else. Walter came into the room, watched Ray as he got the embers to grow back up into proper flames, as he put away the poker and shut the screen.

“I got something for you,” Walter said, watching Ray come to his feet. “It ain’t--it ain’t really your present, but it’s--well, just come on.”

Ray looked confused when Walter led him to the spare bedroom down the hall, but he followed without comment. Walter went in ahead of him, turned on the lights. He went to the closet, brought out his surprise. It was a thin rattan cane, two feet long and very lightweight. He’d had to order it special. Ray still looked confused, so Walter thought he’d explain.

“I been thinking about how to help you,” he said. “I know that since you been back, you ain’t felt like yourself. I know you’ve felt like hell.”

Ray bit his bottom lip, but he didn’t speak.

“I know you hate gettin’ spanked, but I also know it does you good and that it helps you center and calm yourself. I know you’ve never had anything worse than the switch, but this is cane here is supposed to be as bad as it gets. It’s up to you if you want to take it, but you’re going to get fifty strokes if you do, one after another, all of them hard as I can give them. If you want to do this, you’ll undress and you’ll bend over the desk, and you’ll stay there until you’ve taken all fifty. If you don’t, that’s fine, just leave the room and we won’t talk about it again.”

Ray looked at him for a moment, some color coming to his cheeks. He looked at the cane. He chewed his lip. Then, without saying anything, he began undressing. He moved deliberately, and as he went he folded his clothes and laid them at his feet, and then he moved the desk chair to the side and bent over the desk, legs spread like Walter wanted them when he was taking the switch or the strap. Walter could hear him breathing shallowly, saw his spine go straight as he steadied himself.

“Good boy,” Walter said. He knew the cane hardly weighed anything, but right now it felt so heavy. “You tell me when you’re ready.”

It was a moment. Finally, his voice thin but steady, Ray said, “I’m ready.”

“Good boy,” Walter said. “Stay still. I’ll keep count. You just concentrate on taking them good.”

He positioned himself behind Ray, rested the thin cane across Ray’s presented backside. He’d never given a whipping with the cane before, but he’d read up on it and he’d been practicing. He knew how to hit the target. He’d even given himself a few strokes to test how heavy a hand he needed, and so he knew how much this was going to hurt Ray. Hopefully enough to help him. Walter pulled the cane back, and with a firm flick of his wrist, he snapped the thin rod across the center of Ray’s ass. He could tell the magnitude of the pain took him by surprise; he lost the air in his lungs in one sharp exhalation. Walter paused briefly, watched the red stripe bloom on Ray’s tan skin, then snapped the cane again. He decided on ten groups of five; five strokes and then a break. Ray's head was bent, but Walter could see Ray’s jaw jerk each time the cane struck him. He took three sets of five soundlessly, but then stroke number sixteen landed soundly at the most sensitive spot, where the buttocks met the thighs, and he whined quietly, his bowed head dipping further. It was the first stroke in the set, but Walter waited for Ray to regain his composure before landing the next swat. He gave the next four quickly, and then the next five, crisscrossing the raised red stripes on Ray’s hide. 

Stroke thirty-five and Ray's knees buckled. Walter dropped the cane and put his hands on Ray, steadying him at the shoulder, at the waist. Ray brushed his knuckles over his brow, smearing the beads of sweat at his hairline. 

“I'm okay,” he said, slightly breathless. “I can do it.”

Ray steadied himself. He wavered for a moment, but then he stood up straight. Walter picked up the cane. 

The last fifteen were hard going. Ray's legs shook, and he began crying out with every hit. Every bone in Walter's body wanted to lay off, to let the end come easy, but he knew the pain was necessary. Ray needed it to heal. And so he kept applying the strokes as hard and as evenly as he had all along, one after another. He watched the red welts rise on the tawny flesh of Ray's ass and thighs, and felt, as he laid them down, that each one contained a message: _Please get better. I love you._

Walter set down the cane. Ray was gripping the edge of the desk with white knuckles, and his legs quivered. His head was bent so low his forehead nearly touched the desk. 

“That's all, baby,” Walter said. “You did it. You did so good.”

He rested his hand on Ray's back, rubbed slowly. Beneath his palm, he could feel Ray working to slow his breathing. His heart was beating fast as a rabbit's. 

“Oh,” Ray moaned. “Ugh.”

He tried to straighten, but moving ignited the pain in his hindquarters and he recoiled, a full body flinch, before groping back, gingerly assessing the altered state of his well whipped behind. 

“Shit,” he said. “I feel like hamburger.”

“You've looked better,” Walter said. “But how do you _feel_? Deeper than your backside, I mean.”

Ray straightened. He wiped sweat and tears from his eyes, and stepped forward, fit his body against Walter's. He looked him in the eye, nodded. 

“You know… not so bad.” He smiled. “Thank you, _hasanni_.” His smile faded. “Not just for that. For--for your patience with--with everything. I know that it's frustrating, waiting for me to be _me_ again--”

“Luckily, you're worth waiting for.” He kissed him. Ray’s mouth was salty with swallowed tears, but he still felt like home. “I love you. Merry Christmas, baby.”   



End file.
